


Tribeless

by Hero_of_Denerim



Series: Originals [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Avvar Origin, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Human Barbarian Origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hero_of_Denerim/pseuds/Hero_of_Denerim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My attempt at an Avvar Origin.</p><p>Hjilda couldn't know that her scouting mission at Haven would turn out that badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tribeless

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of creating new origins was always somewhat appealing to me, and when I stumbled upon [this thread](https://forum.bioware.com/topic/85228-lore-question-the-old-fereldan-tribes/) I just couldn't help myself. I tried to write it so that the Haven questline would still make sense, and being Avvar might add some more lines of dialogues. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it!  
> If you feel like it, you can always leave kudos, or kind comments :)

Hjilda struggled to keep her impatience to herself. She was supposed to be on her way by now! But here she was, still within the hold, half-heartedly watching the augur prepare his ritual. Fingers gripped the stone block she sat on, so much trying to dig them into it that they hurt; her feet tapped on the ground in a fast rhythm only they seemed to know. She hated waiting.

Any other day, she would have marvelled at the thick, dark blue smoke that rose from the flames, painting ghostly shadows to the wall of the hut. Any other day, she would have assisted him, as was her duty as his apprentice; she would cut the herbs Fahle tossed into the fire, she would prepare the strong wine he drank to clear his mind from his own thoughts, listening to the whispers of the gods; and she would watch each step, each movement of his closely, since she was trained to take his place one day.

Today, though, her nerves were stretched thin. If she wanted to bring a sacrifice to Klogjager before she left, she needed to hurry!

A throaty chuckle forced her attention back to the augur. Having completed his rite, Fahle noticed her unrest. “You make the gods skittish, child,” he said, but not unkindly, “but know that they agreed to lend you their aid.”

Hjilda jolted up from the bench, now that she finally heard the words she had been waiting for, but a shift in the air made her freeze. The familiar flutter inside her chest responded to the presence of the gods, lingering even after the ritual. Her impatience should not take the better of her, since the gods and her mentor were watching. So, she turned to face him; he still smiled at her, and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “Your guiding spirit will show you where you need to be, and you will know what you must do.” He inclined his head, ever so slightly, the light of the flames dancing over his bald head. Then, he sat down, turning his attention to polishing a dagger with an old piece of cloth.

Now that she was dismissed, she left Fahle’s hut. No sooner as she stepped outside, a clear image flickered before her eyes, only briefly, showing a partly charred, dying tree. Her spirit hardly communicated directly with her, for they shared not only her body, but also her mind. But when it chose to, it always sent images to guide her.

She knew where she needed to go. That very tree had grown proud and strong behind the thane’s hut, one of few trees that didn’t suffer under the thin air this high in the Frostbacks. One night, years ago, it had been hit thrice during one lightning storm, burning half of its trunk and splitting the rest of it. It refused to die from this, although it never truly recovered, either, yet Fahle had declared it blessed by the gods, and its remains were left alone.

Hjilda strode across the hold, nodding at those she came across, but she didn’t stop to talk; she was trying her best to exude purpose. She didn’t want to be delayed any further. Night-Wolf Hold was small compared to other Avvar tribes, and news travelled fast. By now, the whole clan knew of her mission tonight.

She arrived at the indicated place quickly enough, and stopped right before the tree. Feeling for more directions from her guide, she examined it. Even in its half-destroyed state, it was still impressive, with one half standing upright, held together by the stiffly burnt bark, and the other splayed across the ground. Still she sensed the touch of the gods in beneath the bark.

Another image flashed before her eyes, and she knew how to proceed. She pulled out her curved dagger, with which she would cut the sparse herbs she could find around the hold, and sank it into the pale brown wood. It hardly offered any resistance, her knife sliding through the tree with ease. Carefully, she pushed her dagger through, cutting out a part close from its heart, not thicker than her arms but as long as she was tall. Despite the softness of the wood, it took her the better part of an hour to separate the rod from the trunk, as thin fissures spread from her knife throughout the wood. When she lifted it from the dead tree, the wood snapped in two where it was especially brittle.

Hjilda cried out in frustration. She couldn’t start from the beginning, even if she had the time to spare. The remains didn’t have enough substance to carve out another piece of wood that size. This could only be a bad omen. She bristled at that unwelcome thought. If she hadn’t been so impatient, if she only had shown more care… But it was for naught, she would return to the augur and confess her failure. Maybe he could-

The two pieces still in her hands, she felt energy creeping through her, from her middle to her arms into her fingers. They glowed with a pale blue light, and that light seemed to seep into the wood. And then, it came to live. Twigs sprouted where it broke, and as she pressed those ends together, they tangled around each other, connecting the parts yet again in a gnarled knot, at the height of her shoulders.

As soon as it was mended, the ghostly light retreated from the woods, and died in her hands. She lifted the staff again, feeling the difference inside the wood; it had not only been connected, but charged with energy as well. Her staff. Touching it grounded her, and still helped her to sense the spirit inside her with ease.

She strapped it across her back, and returned to Fahle. She couldn’t wait to tell him what happened! But when she reached his hut, she saw him engaged deeply in conversation, and that gave her pause. It wasn’t because the augur was not one to speak with the tribesmen, even though he wasn’t. He mostly talked to her, either giving directions or commenting her performance, or he met with the thane to lay down the words of the gods. No, she stopped because Fahle talked to a stranger. His dark skin and groomed black hair, styled into a ponytail, set him apart from the augur, and the rest of the tribe as well. Even his clothes were different, not fur and leathers but shining metals and blue linen, nothing an Avvar would wear.

Her eyes narrowed. What could a stranger want in their midst? She had heard enough tales of hospitality gone wrong, or some ploy by lowlander preachers to stray them from their gods. Holds had been destroyed for less.

Fahle smiled at her benevolently as he spotted her, and waved her over. When she did, he nodded in approval. “The gods have blessed your staff twice, before it found its purpose and afterwards. They told me of your skill, as well. You earned it.” He turned slightly, gesturing towards the man standing next to him. “This is Duncan, an old… acquaintance of mine. From a different life.” He frowned, and added, more to Duncan that to her, “but he was just taking his leave, as he would not find here what he sought. May the Lady guide you, old friend.” The other man only smiled kindly at her. “It was good to meet you again, Fahle. And you, too,” he inclined his head towards her, “If something changes, you know where to find me.” With that, Duncan turned, and walked down the path that lead out of the village.

Fahle, on the other hand, returned his attention to her. “He is a good fellow, this one. Trustworthy, unlike other lowlanders.” He cleared his throat and paused, as if considering something. “I think you are ready. In the morrow, you will prepare your ritual to release your guide. It taught you anything it could.”

Hjilda nodded in response, unable to find words. After this long, she was more than ready to take the next step in her apprenticeship. She would miss her spirit, certainly, for she found it hard to guess where it ended and she herself began. They were one. But she had heard tales around the fires, of augurs too greedy or too afraid to release it when the time had come, and she would be neither. She wouldn’t twist her spirit, and she wouldn’t let it twist her.

She thanked her mentor, and bowed, and turned to find the Mistress of the Hunt. From her, she would receive a gift worthy to offer it to their hold-beast.

While the augur lived at the highest point in the hold, remote from the others but closest to the Lady, the mistress chose her home close to the path leading down the mountains. Always ready for the next hunt, she would laugh.

Hjilda knew she could be there within mere minutes, and rushed down towards the hut. Excitement filled her, an eagerness to fulfil the mission she had prepared herself for during the last weeks. She wanted to leave the hold before the sun kissed the mountains, and wanted to return before dawn. Finally, it was her time to prove her worth to the clan, and she would do so, more even. As an aspiring augur, she was not required to participate in these coming of age trials. In fact, some of the elders argued against it, wanting her to focus on her studies of the gods alone. Only when the thane reminded them that they were a free people, their voices went silent.

And since the thane himself had spoken in her favour, she needed to excel, prove herself twice as much as other youth. She would not fail.

Eventually, she reached the place, and saw Argren already waiting outside, her flaxen hair braided close to her skull, as she always did when she hunted. When she saw the person next to her, however, Hjilda’s heart leapt in joy. Of course Alni was here! She had finished her preparation for their mission tonight, most like. Hjilda raised her hand in greeting, and approached the two hunters.

Her friend mirrored her own smile. Sisters in everything but blood, they were raised together, and had grown quite close. Only when Hjilda began to hear the gods whisper into her ear, they had to spend more time apart, as Alni had shown prowess with the bow the moment she touched one.

The young huntress looked at her appreciatively, still wearing her wide grin. “Good of you to show up! I was almost worried you wouldn’t, being busy talking to the gods and all.”

“Oh no, I only needed them to bless my staff first. A new weapon always needs to be approved by them, you know,” Hjilda replied airily, as she spun around and revealed the staff on her back.

“Pretty, your stick. What are you going to do with it? Whack it on some lowlander’s head?” Alni teased her.

Hjilda rolled her eyes, provoking a fit of laughter from her friend. She had missed that, her. Their duties had kept them apart for too long. It was good to have Alni with her again. “Offending me means offense to the gods! A challenge of the Lady will reveal if your daggers are as fast as your arrows.”

Argren cleared her throat behind them, and both stopped teasing each other in an instant. They even tried to stand a little straighter. “You are prepared for tonight?” she asked them. Both nodded fervently, and the huntress continued, “Very well. You will leave the hold to scout for livestock in Haven. Our last three raids have been fruitless, and now that Hakkon slowly has awakened from his slumber to claim the lands with ice and snow, we are tested again to withstand the cold. We are in need to prepare. Find where the lowlander hide their cattle, and their corn, for we might be in dire need of both soon. Do you need to know more?”

They shook their head in unison. Hjilda knew all the legends about Hakkon their clan had told over the years, and she had already asked other hunters about the small village at the foot of the Frostbacks. They had prepared for this, they knew what they needed to.

Alni shoved a small clay jar into her hands, containing a black paste. Hjilda dipped two fingers into it, and stroke them from temple to temple, across her closed eyes, as well as from her lips downwards to her chin. The other girl had three dark streaks across her forehead, and two at each cheek.

“I wish you success, young ones, for when you return, you enter the hold as adults. Bring the answers we seek.” Argren bowed, and Hjilda could have sworn she saw her tight lips curl up at one corner. Then the senior huntress retreated inside her hut.

“Finally! Argren has lectured me all day about the importance of our quest. ‘It’s for the safety of the hold’ and ‘you need to bear the responsibility of supporting the clan’, or ‘stop grimacing, Alni’” She waved her arms around as they moved down the mountain path, all the while mimicking her mentor’s firm tone. Hjilda stifled a laugh; they were still close to Argren’s hut, and the huntress was infamous for her hearing.

As they walked, they chattered about everything and nothing. Alni spun her tales about the wilds, with about the strong smells and the long trecks, and how she had hunted her latest prey. Hjilda told her friend of the soft whispers and colourful smokes from Fahle’s rites, and how close she was to end her apprenticeship. The other one listened, hungry for these stories from another life, hardly believing what the former accepted as normal long ago.

Eventually, after sharing all their latest tales, both fell into that kind of companionable silence only close friends knew, exchanging nothing but quick smiles and glances. Suddenly, a thought struck Hjilda. “Please tell me we still have time to bring our offering to Klogjager?” Her voice sounded more begging than she had intended to. She should have been more focused on their assignment!

Alni smiled gently. Hjilda could only hope that her friend had felt similar enthusiasm about that at one point before. “You really want to meet our hold-beast, right?”

“Yes,” Hjilda replied shyly. She had never left the hold before, or at least she hadn’t ventured far enough to lose sight of the huts. And Klogjager never stalked his prey too close to their clan himself, so all she knew about him where the tales the hunters shared around the fires.

“He’s impressive, I give him that. A true beast. You won’t be disappointed, if he decides to show.” Alni’s comment eased some of her pressure, but she was still anxious to see the mighty wolf herself.

They left the trodden path and ventured forth; finding footing on those loose rocks, most of them partly covered with moss, wasn’t easy. Hjilda tried to follow Alni’s light footsteps, but the huntress was smaller than her, and lithe. She knew she would have made an impressive warrior herself, if the gods hadn’t chosen to speak to her. Broad shouldered and among the tallest in the whole from an early age, she might have joined the others in the raids. Sometimes, she envied them, and their lives.

While she might be at an advantage in battle, her size, and her unfamiliarity with the terrain made it difficult to follow her friend. It didn’t take long for her to overlook a patch of moss, and slip. Flailing her arms in hope to catch her fall, she only yanked Alni with her, and together they tumbled downwards, landing in a heap. They both looked at each other, and when they realised they weren’t hurt, they burst out in laughter.

Hjilda got up and brushed her hands over her leathers, before she helped up Alni from the ground as well.

“You really aren’t hurt?”

She took Alni’s hands in hers, caressing them with her thumbs, trying to soothe the worry in her eyes. “I’m fine,” she drawled, “not the first time I fell on my-“

A low growl interrupted her. She whipped her head around, and felt her jaw drop. Before them, a giant wolf broke away from the shadows, with fur as black as a starless night, and fangs as long as her fingers. Hjilda was in awe from his strong built, and his deadly beauty. But she was captivated by his eyes, glowing bright green against his dark face. They were strangely intelligent, she could not even guess at the knowledge that hid behind them. Now, he was watching them, but not as a predator who stalked his prey. He seemed almost curious, as if he simply wanted to meet the one with the unfamiliar scent.

Hjilda slowly released Alni’s hands, and fully turned towards the mighty wolf. “Klogjager,” she murmured, trying to convince herself that she indeed was staring at their hold-beast. She shot a look at her friend, who nodded encouragingly. “Klogjager,” she said again, louder this time. The beast slightly turned his head, ears twitching. “We came before you to offer you a gift from the hold we named after you.” She took the piece of bloody meat Alni handed her, and placed it on the ground. Her hands shook, though of nervousness or excitement she could not say. “We thank you for your protection and guidance, Klogjager.”

The black wolf, after watching her closely, now moved towards them. His movements were almost deliberately slow, as if he didn’t want to startle her. Klogjager didn’t break her gaze, constantly gauging her reactions. He lowered his head and sniffed at the venison, before he picked it up with his fangs. No three feet apart, Hjilda didn’t feel fear but humility at the presence of this majestic creature. Klogjager continued to watch them, before he eventually turned, meat still hanging from his snout, and trotted back towards the shadows under the trees.

Loud and vicious snarls had them spinning around. A pack of wolves appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, howling and snapping at the air. They looked somewhat off, however. Their bodies were covered in matt and shaggy fur except for a few patches that showed blistered skin. Even their eyes were repulsing, covered with a milky film, and bulging from their sockets. Whatever sickness they suffered from, Hjilda knew her group needed to keep them at distance. They couldn’t risk contact. She was not familiar with diseases in the wild, but if the whole pack was not only physically changed but also more aggressive and on edge than they should be… No. Their quest would not end because of wolves driven mad by rabies.

Alni drew her bow and nocked an arrow in one fluent motion, and aimed for the wolf standing closest to them. “Ready?” she asked through gritted teeth, not once turning her gaze from the wolves. Hjilda unhooked her staff as an answer. Even Klogjager growled, his fangs still deep red from the meat. Fighting alongside him filled her with courage. When he aided them, the mad beasts wouldn’t be a challenge.

She closed her eyes and reached for the spirit inside her. Its strength was needed now more than ever. Immediately, the familiar energy flowed through her, and she twirled the staff about her head with both hands, before bringing him down onto the ground. The impact sent fissures through the earth, from the tip of the staff towards the wolves, and separated them. They were thrown off balance, trying to regain their footing. Still concentrating on her connection to her spirit, she channelled more magic through the staff, now lifting a boulder the size of a ram into the air and hurled it towards another beast. It was flattened with a shrill howl.

Adrenaline surged through her, but she forced herself to stay level-headed, and take keep her focus on the battle. Klorjager was in the heat of it, sinking his fangs and claws into one of the remaining wolves. Alni aimed for the other one flanking the hold-beast, firing arrows at its neck. Two wolves lay motionless on the ground, one with its head angled unnaturally, and one with a couple of arrows sticking out of it.

Despite herself, she smirked. The remaining two wouldn’t last long either. She whirled her staff in the air, sending more rocks flying. With one final, abrupt motion, she flung them at the sick creatures, exactly when Klogjager retreated briefly. They collapsed under the hail of stones with pitiful whines.

Hjilda turned to the others. She had worked her magic from the distance, not allowing the beasts to close in on her; Alni as well seemed exhausted, and low on arrows, but unharmed otherwise. Klogjager, on the other hand, was favouring his hind leg heavily. One of the beasts had sunk its teeth into his flank, which was not enough pain to distract him during the fight, but was only more apparent afterwards.  He glanced at them, briefly, as if to assure himself the two were out of danger, and slowly trotted towards his lair to lick his wounds. His limp was painful to watch.

Hjilda saw her own worry etched into her friend’s face. “We need to bring him to Fahle! If he’s hurt, if these bite marks fester- or worse! We can’t leave just him here,” she begged. A hurt hold-beast boded ill for their hold, and she shuddered at the thought Klogjager might end up as twisted and mad as those creatures. But something in Alni’s eyes gave her pause. She had noticed during the fight that her friend’s demeanour had switched from jovial to serious within a heartbeat, and the war-paint only added to that, but even now, her gaze was harder than usual, and she refused to lift it from the ground.

Finally, she spoke, “We can’t abandon our mission.”

“What? We found those, those… things responsible for the dwindled livestock! And if we don’t act now, Klogjager might, he might- we need to tell the elders. It’s a bad omen,” she finished lamely.

But Alni wouldn’t listen. “We can’t know if there aren’t more of them! We can’t help our beast if we can’t help the hold first!” She looked up, eyes burning with an intensity Hjilda had never seen before.

Her surprise at those harsh words seemed to be written clearly across her face, for Alni’s lips tugged up into a soft smile, taking away the stinging edge. “We make haste, and return as quickly. Klogjager can take care of himself, I promise. In a few days, he will be at his full strength again.” She reached for her hands and squeezed them lightly.

Probably, her friend was right. Hjilda had no knowledge of the wild, and would only listen to the feeling of dread that had begun to settle in her guts. Not that that was bad; she had learned to trust her feelings. Something was going wrong, but she couldn’t say what, or why she felt that way. Or not now, anyway. It was for the best, if she would follow Alni’s hunter instincts. More of these twisted creature might lurk in the caves inside the Frostbacks, and they needed to destroy their lair, or drive them far enough away from their own hunting grounds. So, she swallowed her objections, nodded, and shouldered her staff.

They continued to trek down the mountain, but their giddiness from before had been replaced with tension. The elders had assumed the lowlanders had moved their cattle, or that maybe a bear had been hunting for food before his winterly slumber. What they had found was so much worse. Every noise they heard had them on edge, hands twitching nervously for their weapons.

Eventually, they entered the path leading to Haven. The sun was setting, it slowly disappeared behind the mountain’s crest. Silence hung over them, like a thick and suffocating blanket.

They exchanged a glance, and stalked forward, keeping to the growing shadows where they could. Even now, as they crossed the threshold to the village, they should have heard the lowlanders in their houses, laughing and swearing as they did, and they should have seen lights shining through their windows. But all they saw was darkness, and all they heard was this unsettling silence.

“Where are they?” Hjilda whispered, for she didn’t dare to raise her voice.

“I can’t tell,” Alni hissed back, “It just feels… wrong.” She pointed at the hut closest to them. “Let’s see if we can find something inside.”

They sneaked over to the house, careful to keep hidden in the shadows. Alni moved along the wall with her back pressed flat against it, and gently pushed a hand against the door. It swung inward. In the half-light of dusk, Hjilda saw her friend’s face scrunch up. While their people did not bother to lock their huts, and shared their goods openly and freely among the hold, lowlanders were desperate to protect what they deemed valuable.

Both slid inside, and they began searched the items inside. Maybe, hidden in one of those, they could find some explanation, some plans, even though Hjilda knew their chances were slim. Fahle had taught her a handful of words, which she could read and write, but she doubted it was enough to uncover information.

Their search proved unsuccessful, and they didn’t find anything in the next house, and the one they examined after that. If packs of wolves were prowling in the area, threatening their existence, the villagers were either not concerned with them or they had yet to discover them. So the beasts didn’t feast on Haven’s livestock.

They continued to enter and search the houses, and though they still didn’t find hints of what had happened, Hjilda saw a building of a size she had never even imagined before. All the houses in Haven could find room inside this one, and the lowlanders could still walk between them.

“The Chantry,” Alni muttered, upon noticing her friend’s wide eyes. “Here they talk to their soft lowlander gods.”

Hjilda snorted. They shouldn’t try to force gods into houses! How could they ask help from the gods if they confined them to such a small space, as grand as this building was? Gods needed to roam, or they would wither!

But through the large windows light streamed out, falling softly onto the powdered snow. The lowlanders had to hide inside.

Their supple leather boots muffled the noise of their steps as they sneaked towards the enormous building. They had not quite reached the door when the heard the hushed voices from inside.

Ever so slowly, Alni placed her hands on the big wooden doors, and pulled them open when pushing didn’t help. More light poured out of the opening, forcing them to avert their gaze to readjust to the brightness. Then, they peeked inside.

Hjilda couldn’t help but marvel at the great hall; the Avvar would never built something like this, for it wouldn’t be completed when they needed to move their hold. Evenly spaced out benches filled the room. On the walls hang large murals, covering the walls between the windows.

And on the other side of the room, the villagers huddled on those hard, wooden benches, backs turned to them, they faced one man standing at the dais. He looked old from what she could see over the distance, with a long grey beard, and his back somewhat hunched under his long, greyish robes. Behind him stood a giant statue of a woman, sword and shield in her hands.

“… and if you do so, you will be cherished as Andraste’s true followers. The Chantry has you believe that she died, but we know the truth; for she will return in her true form and wreak havoc on her enemies! We will be free people once and for all!”

Hjilda looked at her friend, searching her features for signals that she understood this preaching. But Alni seemed as confused as she was herself. Was this how lowlanders talked to their gods? Was this their augur?

Then, the preacher let his gaze wander through the room, up from the villagers before him and towards the door, until he fixated on them. Alni tensed visibly beside her, and unhooked her bow from her back.

“Prove your faith to Andraste, for Maferath’s children have come to betray her once again! We can’t let them succeed in their villainous ploy!” His voice became more intense with each word, until it ended in a screech. “Kill them, for Andraste!”

As one, the villagers got up from their benches, and turned towards them. Even from this distance Hjilda could see their faces twisted into crazed grimaces.

“Korth’s mercy!” Alni cried out, as she fired one arrow after the other. Hjilda could hear the distant boom of a gong. She also drew her staff, summoning her mana.

The leader, however, seemed even more incited. “She will come to smite the unfaithful barbarians, as she had done before! Behold her, in all her glory, and know that she will only become stronger from now!” He urged on the people, who in turn now ran towards the doors, armed with pitchforks and kitchen knives.

Hjilda whirled her staff around, causing a windblast which blew open the doors, and left the attackers staggering back. She used this little distraction to glance at her friend, still sending arrows into the horde. But her quiver was didn’t contain many arrows. “I keep them busy, you warn go and warn the hold!” Alni didn’t look at her, still focused on loosening arrows, but she could tell she heard her. “You are faster than me, you can reach them in time,” Hjilda added, ripping clumps of earth from the ground around her and hurling them towards the villagers. Two were felled, but the rest continued on. They were already halfway through.

She didn’t bother checking when she felt Alni’s lips pressed against her temple. “You will follow as soon as you can, you understand? I will not lose you here!” she hissed. Before Hjilda had a chance to reply, the huntress was gone, darted away into the night and the safety of the shadows. Not that she would have had an answer for her. She send another windblast towards them, knocking one of his feet to be trampled by the others. Sweat formed on Hjilda’s brow and trickled down her temples. She would not have promised something like that, not to Alni. She would not have lied to her, with the last words she would speak to them.

More rocks flew at the people as she twirled her staff around. Half of the group was down, she realised, but she would not allow herself to hope. Her reserves would run dry soon, and while she could take out a few with simply hitting them with her staff, exhaustion would be her end if the villagers were not.

She chuckled under her breath, continuously flinging rocks to thin out the numbers. In the end, she would indeed use her staff to whack those madmen on their heads.

Five villagers reached her, the rest lay unmoving on the Chantry floor. She stopped casting to preserve her mana for one final, desperate strike. If everything else would fail, she would ask that one thing from her guide that should never be asked. But if that could save her hold… Her life was forgone either way. And her spirit would understand.

She swept her staff low, throwing three of her opponents onto their behinds. With them incapacitated for now, she then spun around and used her momentum to crash the head of one of the still standing villagers.

Hot pain surged through her, when a pitchfork was pushed deep enough to shred her layers of thick leather and stuck in her flesh. She pulled it out with a grunt and hammered her staff into her attacker, smashing his shoulder.

Having dealt with those two, the others had gotten back up onto their feet, and circled around her. As she send one of them flying with a kick against his stomach, another one drilled his knife into her left shoulder, where it partly shattered the bone. This time, she could not swallow her pained outcry, and spun around. She dropped her staff, and grabbed the heads. She enjoyed the split second of pure fear that flickered in their eyes, breaking their mask of madness, before she mashed their skulls together.

Surrounded by the dead bodies, Hjilda had finally the time to pause. Alni was faster on her own, and she might be close to the hold by now. If she could keep herself together, for only a little while longer, she might make her way back to the hold as well. She forced out a breath and winced in pain. The dagger still stuck in her back, but no matter how she twisted her arms behind her back, she couldn’t reach it. She could not give up, not now. She turned around, and dragged her feet over the ground, only now realising how exhausted she was. Just one foot before the other-

A new wave of pain hit her. It was different from everything she had endured before. She felt like she was ripped into two pieces, and her head threatened to split. Though she did not feel hands yanking her apart, the pain clouded all her senses. She could not be sure.

Ever so slowly, trying to minimise moving so the pain wouldn’t grow stronger, she turned. On the threshold stood, the elderly man. Blood trickled from his left palm, while he continuously clenched and unclenched his fist. His face was strangely impassive, as she remembered his fiery speech from before, even through the haze of pain. Now, that he was standing closer to her, she could see that his eyes were still sharp, and his grey hair didn’t diminish his power.

His lips twisted into a cruel sneer, while he still opened and closed his fist. The constant waves of pain, each more agonising than the last, would drive her mad; if she couldn’t break his spell soon, since this had to be what happened. The pain might craze her, or break her. She already wished for sweet release of any kind.

“You made short work of those fools,” he said, voice now soft. She heard him even through her screams, yet he was not yelling. He examined her, like a cat would examine a mouse she would play with, and that twinkle in his eyes told her he enjoyed this.

“But this doesn’t matter. Not for you, anyway, and not for me, either. The faithful flock to Haven almost daily, poor souls with nowhere else to go. They gladly give their lives for their saviour, and Andraste will soon be reborn. Not that I expect you barbarians to understand.”

From the pain she felt, her arms and legs should have been torn off by now, yet she still stood, her lungs aching from her screams and begging for air. She felt dizzy, though because of the pain or the shallow breaths she could draw in between her screams, she couldn’t tell. It even made her think her arms started to glow and shimmer.

The man continued, “Your barbarian practices should be punished, the Chantry should have gone against you long ago. But the clerics have grown lazy in their comfortable lives, and turn their blind eyes away from the needs of the people. Otherwise, your people would have been purged from Thedas.

“But you are especially vile, you barbarian mages,” he spat, “giving all of us a bad name. Deals with demons? You should thank me!”

And then Hjilda knew. Her screams pitched even higher, louder, and she increased her struggles against the pain. She needed to keep herself together! If separated now, she would go mad, if it didn’t kill her on the spot. She felt for her mana, it should be enough to force him to stop forever, but she could not concentrate, and the connection to her guide was wavering.

“Once I’ve rid you of this demon, you are free to leave, barbarian abomination. If you can,” he added, still sneering at her.

Then, he threw his fist towards her, and pulled an invisible string back. Her spirit ripped free, tossed from her body. Hjilda collapsed on the ground, now that the pain didn’t held her tense and upright. Her guide, however, confused by the sudden change, twisted and changed its form, turning into a deep red colour.

She was too numb to scramble away, although she knew she should. But her vision grew blurry, and her limbs refused to move, so she could only watch helplessly as the gentle spirit, who had taught her everything, transformed into a howling demon.

Before it could turn on her in its anger, she heard a roar that shook even her tired body. Hjilda looked up, her vision fuzzy at the edges, and only saw a giant silhouette moving above her, blocking the stars from her view. If she had been more conscious, she’d realised it flew towards Night-Wolf Hold. But she was tired, and felt empty from the abrupt loss; she heard the man talk, but his words didn’t cut through to her. As her consciousness slipped away, she only marvelled at the large flying thing in the sky. Only dragons were this big and could fly, she thought to herself, but dragons were long dead.

 

***

 

Hjilda woke, and her body throbbed with dull pain. Bright sunlight crept between her lids, so she squeezed them shut even more, groaning in annoyance. Her head hurt as if she had fallen down the Frostbacks.

She tried to sit up, to look around, but her arms couldn’t so much as lift her from the cot. How was she supposed to help Fahle, if she couldn’t get out of bed?

“Ah, good. You are awake.”

A melodic voice, strange but somehow familiar, interrupted her thoughts. She wrecked her brain to match a face to it, or anything, really, but it only served to intensify her headache.

“Don’t exert yourself. You need to heal.”

She willed her eyes open, blinking forcefully at the light and fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to rush over her. A face appeared in her field of vision, and as she finally managed to focus on it, she stared into warm, brown eyes.

She remembered that kind face with its black hair and dark skin! When she prepared for her mission, she… Memories hit her with the force of an angry swarm of wasps. She remembered. Her quest!

Again she tried to sit up, so violently abrupt that she lost balance, and crashed onto the ground, next to the cot.

“Easy there. We are safe here.”

Hjilda needed to tell him, he couldn’t possibly know! She needed to warn the hold! But she was tongue-tied, mute, from the sudden horror her memories brought with them. Duncan knelt next to her and lifted his wineskin to her lips, from which she drank greedily.

She tried again, “How… long-“ before the rest was swallowed by a coughing fit.

“A week, more or less. I was worried you wouldn’t awaken after all, after I found you in Haven.” She shot him a pleading look, and he continued, “I came to investigate strange rumours about the village, and I had almost dismissed them as simply gossip. But when I arrived, I found too many dead men, and you, and a demon.”

She cringed at the mention of her former guide. Duncan seemed to notice, for he paused and frowned, before he continued, “Then I brought you here. You were half-frozen when I arrived!”

All of this was not what she wanted to hear, needed to hear. She forced herself to rasp out more words.

“Others… escape?”

The way he broke her gaze told her more than she wanted to know. Tears began to well up, and trickled down her cheeks, as he spoke, “The hold was put to the torch. The huts were scorched ruins, and your people…” He didn’t finish, and he didn’t need to. He only shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Laying on her floor, too weak to even drink on her own, Hjilda wept. Everyone she knew, and loved, was dead. She was alone.

Duncan nursed her back to health, and it took another week until she was able to stand on her own again. Only then he told her about the Grey Wardens, and when he offered to take her into their ranks, Hjilda accepted willingly. This would give her purpose.

And, eventually, revenge.


End file.
